Arun Struggles, But Lakshmi Pushes Gently
The next morning, Arun sat at the mirror, staring at his reflection. His long hair was neatly braided, jasmine flowers still woven in. His eyebrows, though only slightly shaped, made his face look softer. The small golden bindi still rested on his forehead, a quiet but undeniable mark of change.
He should have removed it all. He should have said no.
Yet… he didn’t.
Lakshmi entered the room, carrying a fresh saree in her hands. Arun immediately stiffened. “No, Amma,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ve done enough.”
Lakshmi simply smiled and placed the saree beside him. “I haven’t done anything, kanna. You are the one who kept the jasmine in your hair. You are the one who didn’t wipe off the bindi. I only gave you comfort.”
Arun clenched his fists. “That’s because… because…” He struggled for words, but none came. He couldn’t deny it. He had left everything as it was—not because he wanted to, but because undoing it felt like undoing the small warmth he had found in his grief.
Lakshmi’s voice softened. “I know you’re afraid. But look at yourself, kanna. Doesn’t this feel… peaceful?”
He swallowed hard, his hands gripping his lap. “I don’t know who I am anymore,” he admitted, his voice shaking.
Lakshmi ran a gentle hand through his braid. “You are still my Arun. My son. My child.” She lifted the saree slightly. “And maybe, just maybe, there is another way for you to find happiness. Let me help you.”
Arun’s heart pounded. The softness of the fabric, the lingering scent of jasmine, the warmth of his mother-in-law’s words—it all tangled inside him, making him feel trapped and comforted at the same time.
“I can’t,” he whispered.
Lakshmi’s eyes held quiet patience. “Not yet,” she agreed. “But soon, kanna. Soon.”
Arun found himself standing in front of the mirror more often now, studying the subtle changes. His thinner eyebrows, the way the nightgown draped over him, the way the flowers in his hair moved with every breath.
It was wrong. It wasn’t him.
And yet, every time he thought about going back to his old self, he hesitated. The silence of the house without Priya’s presence felt unbearable. But when Lakshmi spoke to him like this—gently, soothingly—he felt… safe.
That morning, Lakshmi handed him a light pink salwar kameez instead of his usual clothes. Arun tensed. “Amma, I told you—”
She raised a hand, silencing him with a motherly look. “It’s just for comfort, kanna. This heat is unbearable, and your lungis are too thick. Try it. Just once.”
Arun stared at the soft fabric. It wasn’t a saree, but it was still something a woman would wear. He looked back at Lakshmi, who smiled patiently.
“Just for today,” she coaxed.
His hands trembled as he took the garment, feeling his heartbeat quicken. The more he fought, the more it felt like she was always one step ahead.
Arun closed his eyes. He didn’t know who he was
anymore.
But somehow, he was still listening.
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